Lest the Righteous
by Perlaret
Summary: They had not expected the serial killer Scar to be an Ishvallan.


Once the Elric brothers were on their way, the night was far from over. Scar had left a great deal of wreckage in his wake, including both public and private property, never mind the sewer now exposed to the open air. Public health concerns aside, you could smell the stench all the way down on Broadway, and word had it there'd already been two accidents on the detour the MPs had set up because of it.

It was a fucking nightmare.

Roy frowned down at the paperwork in front of him, cracking the knuckles in his writing hand as he reviewed the paragraph he'd just set down in his report of the afternoon's events. The minutes were inching ever closer to midnight, but he wanted this done, and not just because the bigwigs at Central would be wanting it as soon as possible. There were any number of State Alchemists who were at risk, not just monsters like Shou Tucker. Like himself. He was thinking more along the lines of people like the ones he'd been responsible for recruiting after the war.

Things were messy that way.

Pondering his next sentence, Roy chewed on the end of his pen, fully aware he'd regret the teeth marks later. He nearly had it when there was a soft knock at his office door. It opened a moment later and Hawkeye stepped inside, a file in one hand and what looked to be a steaming cup of fresh coffee in the other.

"Please say that's for me," he said, perhaps a little too desperately.

The Lieutenant gave him a decidedly blasé look as she came before his desk, then took a slow sip of the coffee before she set the folder in front of him with pointed deliberation.

"My account of the Scar situation," she said, "as well as the paperwork for the rounds I discharged." It was only after he sighed in good-natured defeat and accepted the paperwork that she added, "There is a fresh pot in the breakroom though, courtesy of Falman."

"I see my team is as efficient as always," Roy said dryly. He flipped through her report idly, mostly to see how long it was. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Do finish yours before reading mine, sir," she scolded, although there was little bite to her words. "You can approve it tomorrow, if need be."

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten protocol." Regardless, he put it aside and picked up his pen as she set to pulling things from his outbox. Gathering his thoughts, he went to pen the words he'd had in mind, only to come up short when he found more pressing matters had taken precedence in this thoughts.

"An Ishvallan," is what he said instead.

Hawkeye shuffled the papers quietly, tapping the stack against the desk until they were aligned neatly in her hands. "It was a surprise," she allowed at last, mouth drawing thin.

"I wasn't expecting it," Roy confessed, although he hardly needed to to her, then dropped the pen again and folded his hands beneath his chin, elbows propped on the surface before him. "I meant what I said during the briefing: we can't let him continue murdering people. We have a responsibility to protect those beneath us, both civilians, our own men, and the State Alchemists under my jurisdiction, and will use lethal force as necessary." He dropped his eyes then, brow furrowing. "That said, I'm still unsure."

"Because of his motives," she said. It wasn't a question.

"You heard what he said about me, Lieutenant — about 'coming to meet judgment of my own free will.'"

Hawkeye set the stack of papers down, smoothed her hands over them as she considered her next words. "We may make any number of compromises, sir, but he's a vigilante," is what she settled upon.

Roy glanced up at her, brooding. His voice was flat of inflection when he said, "We've always said we lost the right to decide how we die. I imagine that scar on his forehead was hardly the worst thing that happened to him in that war."

The look the Lieutenant gave him was sharp-edged, as if she could see right through him, and the words that followed were sharper still.

"That's self-pity talking, sir. Not reason, nor any honest desire for justice. Throwing yourself in his path wouldn't stop Scar, or someone like him, from hurting innocents, nor will it make up for what we did, and it certainly won't help anything in the long run. It's selfish." She stared him down, resolute, until his own gaze finally faltered. Roy could read between the lines easily enough. She expected better from him, and she didn't have to say so aloud.

Roy exhaled a long breath and closed his eyes, slumping back and reaching up to rub the nape of his neck. He trusted her judgment, or else he never would have brought it up to start with. After a moment's calculation, he made a face and sighed again, reaching for the kind of drama that would diffuse the tension snapping between them. "Right, right. You're right. I'm an idiot, probably."

When he opened his eyes again, he could see the way Hawkeye's shoulders had relaxed as well, her expression noticeably gentled. "Probably," she agreed, not without irony.

Some of the tension in his own neck eased. He was grateful that they rarely argued for long.

"I'll finish this up soon, Lieutenant," Roy said, tapping his report with a finger, as if she were the officer he answered to. Rank was such a fussy thing that way. "It shouldn't be long now."

"You'll have an escort home tonight, Colonel. Now the weather's cleared, you should be fine, but they have their orders. Don't keep them waiting too long." Roy gave Hawkeye his most beleaguered smile, but nodded his assent. She gathered up their work again and half-turned towards the door, only to pause once more.

"Will you be okay?" Riza asked. He had to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat.

"Right as rain," he said, smiling in earnest this time despite the joke.

Maybe in time it would be true. For now, they had work to do.


End file.
